I sit there under the cypress tree
Trying to fathom the mind and
the bumbling of the wandering bee.
I sit under the grey clouds
Heavy and looming about
but never raining, like they have repressed
all that it has to say, all that it has to sway.
I sit under the starlit sky
Counting the stars, and the thoughts
They shine as they burn,
Like the thoughts that your imagination churn.
I sit with all that is far and loved
All that is with me and not,
I sit, trying to fathom the gaps of all
I have left unsaid, unheard, and unfelt.